Things Are Rough All Over
by writersblock242
Summary: "We have troubles you've never even heard of."
1. Cracked

Author's Note: This is the beginning of something I've been working on for a very long time. I hope you like it.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders, I merely use its universe and characters to manipulate for my own enjoyment.

* * *

Making movies. All my life—even when I was a little kid—that was all I wanted to do. If I could guess why, I'd probably say that I always could see my memories very clearly—almost as if they were on film. It was very convenient during school, but other times, I violently detested the way I remembered things.

Imagine, lying awake at night and seeing your worst acts frame by frame. Those filmstrips were the cause of many sleepless nights.

I didn't _plan_ on doing anything particularly senseless that day. All I was scheduled to do that was have lunch with Randy, his mother, and my mother. The lunch was horrible. Having lunch with our mothers wasn't normally quite as painfully uneventful, but when all they talked about was the same three pieces of gossip, we decided we needed to escape. If Randy heard that Alice Hopkinson was flirting with her new gardener one more time, I swore he'd explode.

Randy and his mother had a wall between them higher than the one in China. You could see it in the eyes they shared. In every word they spoke to each other, their eyes moved back and forth quickly like a bee buzzing around, just waiting to sting. The sting, though, was in the tone of voice they used. My mother, bless her heart, would always smile and turn the conversation around though.

It was almost impossible to get out of the lunch, no matter how many times we asked to be excused, our mothers would still say, "Oh, but boys, we're having such a lovely time having lunch together!" It wasn't until Randy insisted that we needed to meet up with Bob and Henry that we were able to escape.

We were only partially lying, we didn't _need_ to meet up with them, but to get out of that lunch, we were willing to go out and find them.

Bob and Henry were easy to find because they were both at Henry's house examining the new painting hanging in Henry's stepfather's study. They were relieved to be saved, but Randy was annoyed when Bob insisted on driving.

The other member of Will Roger's top social group, Roger Sheffield, was unavailable. It slips my memory where he was. Probably off doing something for the greater good or something stupid like that.

XXX

We had been driving for a while and I didn't care where we were going. However, the car went quiet when we turned onto a bad street. I'd been onto bad streets before—how can you not in Tulsa?—but it was one of the first times I paid attention. I turned my head and panned my eyes all around. On our side of town, it always seemed to be bright out. There though, the grey-tinted clouds only let a few cracks of sunlight shine through. I focused in on the house and the paint and some windows were cracked just like the clouds. As the car slowed to stop for a stop sign, I focused in on a woman. Her lip was busted—cracked. I stared at her until she made eye contact back. To be honest, it was the first time in a while I've been out of my head with no outside help.

I only came out of it when Bob slammed on the gas and then the brakes. The wind was knocked out of me, which fueled laughter from Bob, Randy, and Henry. As I tried to find my breath, I scanned the car—nothing was broken at all.

"So, where _are_ we going?" Henry asked in his normal sharp tone after we turned onto an even more unfamiliar street.

"Are you that dumb that you can't recognize street names? We're going to have some fun." Bob snapped in response. He was outfitted in his "rebellious fun" facial expression. The same expression that frightened many a greaser and many a lowerclassman before Bob kicked their ass.

"I know very well where we are," Henry fibbed. "But I was hoping for a more specific answer."

"We're here anyway." Bob was the first out of the car and he made sure to shut the door as quietly as possible.

Henry would have continued the bickering, but the second Bob left the car we all changed our stature. Whenever we were going to jump someone soberly, you could see a bit of fear in all of our eyes. Bob, of course, was an exception, but he always had a look on his face like he was thinking something entirely different than everyone else.

As always, the first thing I did was size up the person who, I'd assumed by that point, we were going to be jumping. The greaser, our assumed victim, was kicking around a football. He wasn't actually that bad. I would've known too as the first string varsity kicker at Will Rogers High School. The kid looked abnormally small, but there was something really strong and tough about him. His size was what concerned me—_so small_. Part of my mind was telling me that Bob was off his rocker and we should find someone else or go home, but the other was telling me to just have fun.

If you've never jumped someone you wouldn't know the intense thrill that comes with the approach. You never know how good of a fighter the person is and waiting to find out fills you with adrenaline.

Usually, Bob, our unofficial but clear leader, says something to start a verbal fight before we start packing punches, but this particular time he just nodded for Randy and me to get him. This added to my concern.

The kid ran, but we caught up with him easily. I pinned his left side and shoved a handkerchief in the boy's mouth while Randy pinned his right side. Henry stood watch, hoping that he would be asked to help.

Slow motion came into effect and I remember having fun outwardly, but that one part of my mind was really scared that Bob was going crazy or something. He just kept hitting this kid over and over. He hit him long after he lost consciousness and it wasn't until Randy stopped him that Bob backed off.

We stood up and studied the kid for about five minutes. His eyes were open—wide and rolled back— he wasn't breathing either. Randy turned us away, and we jogged back to the car.

I remember trying to convince myself that it wouldn't matter if he was dead. It wasn't like anyone was going to go looking for him. He was probably even a tramp or something. He also could have been one of those hoodlums who held up gas stations and things like that.

Even after coming up with every possible excuse why I shouldn't be upset, I couldn't stop playing the reel of the boy's face over and over.

"David, wake up! You're off in la-la land or something. Come on, we're going to go get the girls. You don't have any blood on you, right?" Henry gave me a playful shove. At the time, I laughed and pushed him back, but thinking about it now, it makes me sick.

I've jumped plenty of people—more than I'd like to admit. I don't remember all of their faces or even if _I _got hurt at all, but _god_, I'll never forget his face.

* * *

Author's Note 2: Meet David! The child of my imagination. I've been developing his character for very many years and I hope you like him. I'd like to dedicate this to Cassy who has been with me the whole time.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders, I merely use its universe and characters to manipulate for my own enjoyment.

* * *

The day was normal, the sun was shining and the birds were singing, the making of a perfect day in most eyes. Although, with a schedule read to me every morning most days were "perfectly normal." Or, planned carefully so that they'd be as normal as possible because "God forbid I create a scandal" or whatever my mother tells me when I'm in a negative editorial.

A boy's seventeenth birthday was a little disappointing, I was already able to drive and it would be while until I could drink—legally. My mother loved to make a big deal out of birthdays. She gave all of us extravagant birthdays to feel wanted or something. My birthday especially was one of the best occasions for a party because it was at a time where the weather wasn't too hot or too cold and because it was mine.

My mother would do almost anything for me. When I was really little, my brother would beat me up all the time. To be honest, I usually caused it—as the younger brother, I made it my job to annoy Thom to no end. Anyway, Thom was really strong, so when he beat me up, I'd cry. Crying, of course would make my father frustrated and he'd yell and make me cry more, or my brother would beat me up again for crying like a girl. My mother, however, would sit and comfort me no matter how busy she was. A lot of my friends couldn't say that. My friend Henry, actually, was raised almost exclusively by his nanny. I was one of the lucky ones that had a mother who would take the time to talk to me, find out what kind of person I was, and love me.

As I grew up though, I stopped needing her. My brother stopped beating me up when he got to high school and started going out more, but I stopped crying long before then.

XXX

I was not a morning person and no matter how good the day looked, I still thought I deserved at least another hour of sleep.

"Mr. David?" my old maid, Loretta, called through the door. She was my brother and I's nanny for years, but we insisted that her title be changed when I hit fifteen. My brother and I thought we were too old for a nanny, but not old enough that we would clean our own bedrooms.

"I'm up, I'm up." The moment I started talking she came barging through the door. She hustled on over to the window and opened the curtains. I groaned as the light hit my not-yet-awake eyes.

"Sit up, boy, you need to hurry up and get ready. Your mother insists that you get out of the house so she can prepare for your party." She pulled my bureau drawer open and pulled out two polo shirts. "Lavender or green?"

I pointed sleepily at the green one and sat up. "Has she arranged for me to go somewhere during the day, or must _I_ arrange for somewhere to spend my day?"

"Your friends will be taking you somewhere, I was not told where." She placed my clothes out on my bureau and went to stand by me.

"Now, which" friends" would these be?" Knowing my mother, "my friends" consisted of any of her friends' children.

"Mr. Robert, Mr. Henry, Mr. Randall and Mr. Roger will be with you."

"Loretta!" I heard my mother yell.

"Now, bathe yourself and get dressed. Your mother will not be happy if you see any of her plans."

The formality of those early conversations bothered me. Everything in my house was so rigid and formal that it was impossible to relax. The only thing that helped was the flask in my night stand, but that is irrelevant for now.

XXX

"Happy birthday, David," my father said to me at breakfast. I don't think he remembered it. I just think Loretta or mother reminded him before breakfast. He hasn't remembered my birthday ever—not even the day I was born. He was off in New York on business, or so my mother tells me.

"Thank you." I nodded and picked at my breakfast.

"Your brother is coming home for your party tonight." Father sat up straighter as he talked about how my brother was supposed to be studying, but set all of his high and mighty tasks aside to come to my lowly party. I suppose that was incentive to express my gratitude, but I doubt Thomas was actually going to be studying. Everything came natural to him, he was the first born, and in every single way, the light of my father's life. He was in his third year of premed—his only fault. Thomas Edward Lyle III was supposed to be in law school, readying himself to take charge of the company after father retired. The thing about being father's pride and joy was that he was allowed to pick his career. The choice of a surgeon was a fine career, but that meant that I was stuck filling the position of "heir".

"Well, I'm very glad that he is coming. When will he be arriving?" I looked at the morning paper in front of my father, noticing that my debate team was on the cover of the society section.

"Thomas should be here at six o'clock if traffic allows. Now, son, hurry up, I'm sure your mother planned for you to be doing something."

"Ted, look, David is in the paper."

He grunted. "That's nice, dear."

I nodded in obedience and carefully slid out from under the table. I pushed in my chair and exited the room, working my way towards to foyer. To my delight, Roger's car was already going through the gate.

XXX

"After this, we should go swim for a bit. It's so hot out," Roger said before taking a bite out of his sandwich. He was right about the weather, even under the umbrella we could feel the heat beating down on us.

"I'm dying in here," Bob commented, his face was red and he was wearing a long sleeve shirt. He knew better than to roll up his sleeves or unbutton the top button in the club. It would be "absolutely scandalous" as Henry's mother would say, but everything was "scandalous" in her eyes.

"I was dying out on the course this morning when the sun wasn't right above us." Just talking made me even warmer. Luckily, I had a cool glass of lemonade. It felt so good dripping down my parched throat.

"You know what? We can just get more food if we are hungry. However, we can't get more food if we all get heatstroke and die." Randy motioned to a waiter and asked for the check. "Who's paying?"

"David's paying. His mother gave us a whole wad of cash to keep him out of the house." Roger took the money out and the guys laughed.

"She just doesn't want me to see her plans. It's sort of like a surprise party," I defended.

"Aw, Davey's mommy is throwing him a surprise party and she needs us to baby sit," Bob teased.

"Cut it out, come on, guys, you know my mother always gets the best food." I held my arms out by my sides and tilted my head, waiting for someone to agree.

"The caterer she hires is amazing, my mother has been trying to get their telephone number for years," Henry said.

"Tell your mom to fuck off," I spat at him.  
To break up the impending kerfuffle, Roger said, "Now come on. Let's go swim."

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Author's note: I could never quite get the wording right in some of these scenes. Any critiques or words of wisdom are greatly appreciated.


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